


Three Glimpses, Another Look

by starlurker



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-17 13:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlurker/pseuds/starlurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The repeal, a kiss, a touch and a glimmer of another universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Glimpses, Another Look

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet collection from various memes. ETA: Added another ficlet (Another Look) to the collection, which is a crossover with the film _Plata Quemada_ on April 13, 2011, written for marina's birthday.

FIRST - REPEAL

Brad still had his keys to Nate's house, but he chose to stand outside for a minute, letting it all sink in. It was 1:30 in the morning -- you're already thinking civilian, he thought -- and it should have bothered him that he was taking this long to decide. A man of action frozen in time, but he wasn't in a battlefield, so he had time.

The lights clicked on, making him start in surprise. Motion sensor lighting. He hadn't moved an inch though, but there was probably a branch that triggered it. Nate's front door, its burnished wood sheen and slight scratches from the dog that he babysat all those months ago stood out in stark relief. Brad stepped closer and put the key in. He walked in to a dark house that still smelled achingly familiar, dust and sweat and old books, the remnants of a citrus candle that Nate received ten of from his sister, the chicken teriyaki that Nate always made when he couldn't think of anything to cook.

Brad took a deep breath in and dropped his bag on the floor. He carefully unlaced his boots and felt his way around the dark living room. The couch was one of Nate's extravagant purchases, big and firm and comfortable, better than some beds that Brad had slept in. He got one of the pillows and lay down on the couch.

The feel of this house and the knowledge that Nate was upstairs sleeping was enough. Brad closed his eyes and fell into a sleep that was like jumping off a cliff.

***

He woke up to the smell of Kona coffee. He opened his eyes and saw Nate putting down a cup on the side table.

"I remember your morning breath," Nate said, a slight smile on his face. "Drink up."

Brad got up and stretched his arms. He had fallen asleep in his service uniform and it had scrunched up in the middle of the night.

The coffee was paradise after the crap he'd been drinking for the past few months.

"I have some bagels and cream cheese in the kitchen," Nate said.

Brad nodded. He had a speech planned, all about mistakes and fear and leaving the only thing he had ever known and how it was all society's fault, but His throat felt parched, his tongue felt like it had atrophied. So maybe not quite yet. Brad took a sip of the coffee instead. He looked his fill at Nate over the rim of his cup. Nate had new lines on his face, and he'd had a haircut recently but it was still longer than what their old regs required. Brad had worn the shirt Nate was wearing now, an old PT shirt from way back. Brad felt his heart take a leap when he noticed. Maybe there was something to salvage here. Friendship would be a gift at this point after Brad burned this particular bridge.

Nate leaned back on his chair and watched him drink. Waiting, but without pressure.

Brad swallowed the last bit of coffee. "I'm not a smart man about some things," he started. "But I learn from my mistakes. And I hope you hear me out and give me a chance." He licked his lips and said, "I'm sorry."

Nate smiled, but it was an awful one lined with sadness around the edges. "DADT being repealed doesn't make me a fallback position, Brad."

He stared at Nate, not understanding. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Brad." Nate's voice was dangerous.

"I've been in the air all this time," Brad said. "I haven't checked my e-mail. My phone's still off. I don't have my laptop. I flew straight here. Nate, I swear to you I hadn't heard anything."

A long time ago, he had told Nate that he found it impossible to lie to him. Withhold things, maybe. Strategically release information, or not say anything at all. But never lie, and that was still true. And he saw the moment it clicked with Nate and Brad was always a practical and realistic man, but the expression on Nate's face made Brad hope that there was still something here after all.

Nate bit his lower lip and let out a loud exhale. Brad leaned forward over the coffee table to reach out to him. They met halfway, the way they always used to do. Brad closed his eyes and blindly went for Nate's mouth and at contact, felt something lodged in him like a sharp and poisonous needle snap in half.

"Welcome home," Nate murmured.

END

 

 

SECOND - A KISS

Brad tasted like Coke and hamburgers, and when Nate curled his tongue behind the spot in Brad's two front teeth, Brad made a sound that seemed scraped from his throat, this low, crackling sound like a forest on fire.

I want you so much, Nate thought. You'll never know how much. He slipped a knee in between Brad's legs and pushed him further so that he was trapped between the hotel door and Nate. Every inch of Brad was pressed against him, and he couldn't help the groan that came out when he felt that Brad was as eager as he was for this unnameable thing that always happened between them.

"How long can you stay?" Nate murmured against Brad's mouth and slipped his tongue in between Brad's lips. He was willing to wait for the answer, and some things took precedence.

Brad stopped the kiss, so Nate took a leisurely detour on Brad's neck, the spot behind his ears that seemed to stick out more than Nate remembered, the stubbly patch under his jaw that the razor always missed, which made Brad's head fall back as Nate licked the bristly hair.

"I was hoping I could stay for a while," Brad said breathlessly. "Years, if you'll let me." Nate started in surprised and took a step back, noticing the sudden apprehensive set of Brad's thin lips. The stiff line of his shoulders. His hands, which were shaking. "I left," Brad continued.

"Just like that?" Nate asked, years of waiting and wishing sweeping past and making themselves known.

"Yeah," Brad said. "I understand if I'm too late." The Iceman chill went into effect, Brad's most aggravating self-defense technique when he anticipated that his heart would be broken. Nate hated the sound and sight of it; he shook his head at Brad, who clearly didn't know what Nate meant, judging by his expression.

"I mean, no, it's not too late," Nate said. Brad's eyes and smile glowed like river stones in Nate's barely lit living room. Nate wrapped his arms around Brad's waist and gripped tight, the desperation fading into warm reassurance as each minute ticked by into a sense of certainty that was locking into place. The road ahead was uncertain, but Nate's faith in Brad was anything but. He wrapped his hand around Brad's dogtags and pulled him down, Brad's mouth opening on instinct, and they kissed the years of waiting goodbye.

END

 

 

THIRD - A TOUCH

Brad got the call on 1414 on a Tuesday afternoon. He was in the middle of doing nothing on a rare day off where he stayed in bed until 0830, the other side of the bed already cool. The water was good this morning when he surfed, his bottom turns all speedy and in perfect sync with the waves. He had a nice turkey sandwich with some organic, artisan-baked bread that he would never admit in front of certain people that he went out of this way for just to buy.

He drove to the hospital -- 30 miles over the speed limit whenever the fucking traffic eased up -- and vaguely wondered about the sprinkler system that was installed last week. The guy who had installed it looked shifty and Brad did his best killer Marine bit to put the fear of God into him.

With his windows open, his shades on, he could have been any California surfer. But he wasn't.

The hospital was massive and overcharged for fucking parking, and every time he was redirected to another part, then another part, he got more and more pissed off. When he took off his glasses, people took a step back, probably from the expression on his face. He's heard it all before: cold, scary, killer. He has never cared.

Someone competent finally told him where to go. He thanked her and took long steps because he was rerouted back to the ER on the first floor. The people in the elevator hugged the walls and corners of it while he stood in the center, dead calm.

He walked out of the elevator and followed the directions to go into the ICU. The antiseptic, clammy smell of the hospital invaded his nostrils and he wished he was still back in the ocean, or back in bed with the scent of what he did last night still around him. His shoes squeaked along the shiny floor.

ICU, the doors said in front of him. He took a deep breath and went in.

The nurse told him to go into Room 414. A brisk nod to her and he was on his way, going around some empty beds and equipment. The numbers seemed to glow when he finally reached the room; he straightened his back and turned the handle.

Nate was lying on the bed, bruised and banged up. Alive and awake. His face was a collection of bruises and cuts, his left arm in a sling, his left leg in a cast.

"Brad, I'm OK," Nate said. Those green eyes, Brad thought distantly. Slightly glazed -- probably some painkillers. He closed the door in the room and noticed that it didn't have a lock. He leaned his forehead against the door.

"The fuckers who called me didn't give enough information. Motherfuckers. Motherfucking sons of bitches. They just told me I was an emergency contact and that you were in the hospital with serious injuries from a car accident." Brad took another breath, got off the door and turned around.

"Brad, I'm OK. Come here," Nate ordered, and Brad was helpless against it. He stood over Nate, taking account of his injuries -- call Doc, he thought, for tips on what to do -- until he felt Nate take one of his hands. He heard his breath go out of him in a whoosh, felt all the fear and panic and premature grief and certainty that this was yet one more person taken away, all of it leaving so swiftly he felt lightheaded for a second.

In the future, Brad will deny that his knees felt weak. He'll roll his eyes when Ray inevitably exaggerates the story like the retard that he is and turns it into Brad collapsing into a chair with tears in his eyes and speeches of how he would never let Nate go, all because a day after the accident, Brad called Ray and told him what happened and said "Close call with Nate. Minor scare, but he's fine."

In his heart, Brad will know that Ray exaggerated, but he will never admit to anyone that Ray wasn't really that far off, all things considered.

"Nate," Brad said, trying not to show how scared he got, but Nate seemed to understand, to read him like he always did. Nate patted the sliver of bed beside him, so Brad sat awkwardly on the small space. He ran his hands over Nate's right arm, his stomach, his right leg, evaluating health and comparing injury. Nate was warm and alive beneath his hands.

"Come closer," Nate said. Brad moved up as far as he was able, and Nate seemed to do his own assessment. Brad closed his eyes and felt Nate caress his cheek, slide down to his chest and rub smooth circles, squeeze his left thigh briefly.

"See? I'm fine," Nate said. "I'm even a little horny."

Brad laughed. He leaned down and kissed the tip of Nate's nose and the part of his cheek without any cuts. Brad tucked his nose and mouth into the spot behind Nate's ear, his neck, smelled the musty, sweaty smell of him and had he been religious, he would have thanked someone for sparing Nate, for letting Brad have more time.

He took Nate's right in between his. Massaged the meaty part of Nate's palm, pressed the knuckles. He took Nate's hand and pressed it against his face, kissing it softly.

"Tell me what happened," he whispered. When he looked up, Nate had fallen asleep. With Nate's unbroken right hand in his left, Brad stood guard the rest of the night.

END

 

ANOTHER LOOK -- A DREAM

In his dreams, Nate can see himself through the skin of someone else, someone he could never dream of being, though he can't deny the primal and illicit thrill of the life his subconscious projected. His dream life was swimming in bullets and blood but for entirely different purposes than his desert tours, which seemed so long ago now.

"What do you see?" Brad asked.

Nate turned to his side to look at Brad, who had let his hair grow out to something longer than regulation length. The sheets were tangled around them -- they'd just had lazy weekend afternoon sex.

"You're there too," Nate said. "Like it's you, but in another skin." Brad was on his stomach when he asked his question and when Nate responded, he turned to face Nate too, leaning his weight on his elbow.

"Weird," Brad said. "How do you know it's us?"

"I don't know. Just do."

Brad was at his softest after sex, which really wasn't saying much. Nate knew that one word could get Brad out of the relaxed mood they were both in, but that Brad let his guard down to that extent was touching, but also something he kept to himself. This was his secret, something he hoarded jealously that the rest of the world would never get to see. He looked his fill at Brad now, skin still unevenly golden brown and milky pale, his eyebrows bleached bright, his eyes a startling blue.

"What happens in these dreams?"

Nate stared at the ceiling. "We do terrible things." He could almost hear Brad's eyebrow arch up. "I mean genuinely terrible, Brad."

"You can't blame me for thinking that way. Not when you're involved."

Nate laughed. Brad's hand was stroking Nate's chest, with one of his unevenly trimmed fingernails pleasantly catching on the scant few hairs.

"Up for round two already, huh?" Nate asked.

"Gotta stock up," Brad said.

Nate rolled quickly and went on top of Brad. Words would be unnecessary for a little while -- he and Brad could read each other effortlessly now.

***

_He was running rápidamente. Rápido rápido. La policia were running after them, but his pistola had jammed. He looked ahead to where Brad was running, but Brad was different now. Almost just as tall, but with dark hair, guapo as he remembered but in an entirely different way._

_"Angel," Brad_ (¡Nene, Nene!) _said, but that wasn't his name here, was it? "¡Angel, detrás de ti!"_

_Angel looked back and saw the flash of the gun. The bullet missed, but he felt the zip of it close to his ear._

_"¡Estupido!" Nene yelled at la policia. "¡Estupido!"_

_The voces in Angel's head were loud. One of them was louder than the rest, saying Nate wake up Nate wake up Nate wake up. If he ever went to New York like he had always dreamed, that would be his nombre, Angel thought. Nate._

***

Nate woke up with Brad shaking him on the shoulder.

"Bad dream?"

Nate nodded his head. "Gunfight," he said.

"It sounds like a fancy anxiety dream," Brad said.

"Maybe." Nate sighed. "You were speaking in Spanish though. It would have been hot if we weren't being shot at." He felt Brad kiss him on the hinge of his jaw. Nate closed his eyes and relished the quiet day, the feeling of it.

"You wanna eat?" Brad mumbled.

"Let's stay in bed," Nate said. "We can get a big breakfast before your flight out tomorrow."

"Sounds good to me." Brad got up to go to the bathroom and Nate enjoyed the view. He won't be seeing it for a while.

Nate thought of their rituals before Brad left, the bigger than big meals, the louder and rougher sex, the sheer amount of sex they had in the limited amount of time that they had, always ending with Nate shaving off Brad's hair, which he usually let grow with a great deal of good humor and patience for Nate's sake. He stayed in bed and wished for time to slow down, which through repetition had become his own private ritual. Futile, but traditional, a source of odd comfort now.

Wish time was over though, and Nate was never one for impracticalities. He got up to fix the sheets and hummed a song, a Spanish one dredged up from memory.

END


End file.
